Day 11

Today I’m in a good mood.
The reasons for my happiness are twofold. Firstly I won the Friday night game at my local club (winnings: £60) and secondly, the mother-in-law is going away for five days.
I shall skip over the live poker, as there will be a brief report later in today’s post and focus instead on the important issue.
For five whole, blissful, beautiful, quiet days I shall be able to slob around the house to my heart’s content. I look forward to drinking beer direct from the can rather than having a glass thrust under my nose every time a ring pull hisses. I look forward to openly farting after dinner without being screamed at. I look forward to spending inordinate amounts of time on the toilet with a newspaper.
I’ve agreed to take her to the airport (actually I insisted; it’s the only way I can be sure she really leaves) and I look forward to air traffic control’s announcement over the speaker system…”Runway Two, Runway Two; broomstick clear for takeoff”. The departure lounge will be like a party scene from ‘Caligula’s Hot Nights’.
The only bad news is that I’ve also been given the responsibility of looking after the cat.
You’ve all probably figured out that I’m highly irresponsible and shouldn’t be trusted with my own casino, let alone that of an animal. It reminds me of an episode last year when I agreed to look after a friends dog while he spent three weeks in Thailand.
I should explain.

At the time I was living in a really nice apartment with sufficient space for two people and a small goldfish, but sharing it with a Doberman the size of a Shetland pony was awkward to say the least.
The dog (named ‘Oscar’) made my life hell from day one.
He’s a lovely animal but with a personality somewhere between Bart Simpson and Hannibal Lecter. Every night he insisted on sleeping on the bed rather than the floor and did his best to take over every inch of it. Can you imagine how difficult it is to remove a stubborn animal that size that doesn’t want to move and, more importantly, is prepared to fight back?
One night he went to sleep on my head.
A normal start to a bad day is waking up and finding there’s no milk for your corn flakes. Waking up with a couple of sweaty dog testicles resting on your cheek goes so far beyond bad that you’d need a radio telescope to see it.
He insisted on being taken for at least five walks a day and then refused to come back when let off his leash. Presumably it’s a great doggy game to watch someone sprinting madly round a field before collapsing exhausted on the grass with his face turning blue.
On one ‘walk’ there were a few kids happily playing soccer using their coats as an improvised goal. Oscar ran off with a goal post.
He pissed on the other one.
Every day he ate so much food that the local pet store had to request extra supplies. I also discovered he is one of the few animals with a magical ability to shit twice his own bodyweight in a single sitting.
I think one pile is still in the field and has since been included on satellite maps as a land feature.
Although the cat is nowhere near the same size as Oscar it still persecutes me with the same degree of enthusiasm. It’s going to be an interesting few days.

Once more, today’s on-line poker was something of a wash out but there’s another one at midnight so I shall have another go. It seems odd that when I play live games I don’t do too badly and more often than not leave with more cash than I arrive with but never seem to do well in the freerolls. Therefore I have another plan for tonight: I’m going to get drunk. So I shall mount my trusty steed and armed only with a packet of smokes and a bottle of bourbon shall set forth into the arena of free poker. Hopefully I won’t be on the same table as the donkey that eliminated me earlier. How stupid do you have to be to call 10-10 with 5-2 off?